


Without a Trace

by WinnieTherPooh



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Makes Bad Choices, F/M, Fitz Makes Bad Choices, Hurt Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, People don't take Fitz seriously, Triggers, anoxic brain injury, hypoxia, tremors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnieTherPooh/pseuds/WinnieTherPooh
Summary: After the Monolith refuses to take him to Jemma (3x01), Leo Fitz visits a bar to drown his problems without considering the enemies he (and SHIELD) have made. Everything about him seems to have disappeared without a trace. AU after 3x01





	1. Alone

Alistair Fitz had had a habit. When anything went wrong-anything- he would go to the bar and drink until he could barely think. Sometimes he would stumble home, sometimes a buddy would drop him off, sometimes a cab showed up, and sometimes he didn't go home. His son, Leopold Fitz, had hated it. Hated the fears that came with it- would his dad come home at all? Or would he be drunk and angry and looking for a fight?

Either way, he had sworn never to get drunk, never to lose control like that if he could help it.

But after the monolith? After the insult, the spit in the face of the evil thing- there was nothing left to do. It wouldn't take him back to Jemma, and life didn't seem possible without Jemma. Maybe, just maybe, if he drank enough, he would see her. Maybe he could find the solace that his dad had seemed to find at the bar.

Coulson didn't deny his request to leave the base for a drink. In fact, he encouraged it, even offered him some cash for it. He seemed to think that this was a sign that Fitz was "getting over it." How was Fitz supposed to "get over" this? How could he possibly move on from his best friend of over a decade? A single night of bloody drinking wasn't going to fix that. What the bloody hell did Coulson think a drink was going to fix?

Walking into the bar was the hardest part of following in his dad's footsteps. He stood outside on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. As much as he wanted to push away his memories of his dad, of the drinking, he had let the influence creep in. After all, here he was, in front of a bar, with the money and intention of getting so drunk he couldn't walk straight. Fitz turned around, staring up at the blinking security camera on the spotlight. "What the hell are you looking at?" He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and pacing again. Funny, thinking over his dad wasn't quite as difficult as it had been before all of this. Jemma made pain feel relative. It was like he could still hear his dad's voice in his head sometimes. Can't even get drunk. Not even gutsy enough to go for a drink. You can't do anything decisively, can you, boy? And you call yourself my son.

Fitz went into the bar.

He struggled again with actually drinking the damn thing. He had asked for whatever was strong, didn't know what was in it, but that didn't matter. He knew getting drunk wasn't rational, or logical, or what Jemma would have wanted him to do, but that didn't matter anymore. There wasn't a rational explanation for what had happened to Jemma. It wasn't logical that she could have just disappeared into it. Jemma would have wanted him to keep looking, but Coulson wouldn't even let him do that. He had wanted to analyze the dust he had found off the rock, but Coulson had revoked his lab access. He had nothing left anymore, except to do what his dad had always done. Sitting at the bar, he stared at the drink. Could he really do this? Let himself down, let his team down?

His team could live without him, he knew that. They barely even knew he existed anymore. Bobbi and Hunter, Daisy and Mack. They were the team. And then there's Fitz. The afterthought. The screwup. The disabled one. He downed the drink in one shot.

He stared down at the empty glass, wondering if they'd even noticed his absence. Probably not. They were getting along just fine without Jemma now, weren't they? Didn't even notice how much it had hurt him that she was gone. They didn't care. The bartender gave him a refill, and asked about his keys. He had walked to the bar.

It was all about the Inhumans now. Inhumans everything. They were so focused on the people the team helped that they were forgetting that some of the people on the team needed help too.

Mack called him "buddy" like a child. Mack was supposed to be better than that. Mack was supposed to be one of the good ones who didn't treat him differently. Like Daisy- hadn't he been there for her when she needed help the most? And now she was chumming with Mack, and both of them had forgotten him. He let the bartender refill his glass for a third drink.

Hunter- it was all Bobbi now. And of course, that was logical. In this whole screwed up, illogical mess, that made sense. He would have at least thought that Hunter cared a little bit. Bobbi herself took Jemma's place in the lab, messing up their systems and replacing her. They couldn't just replace Jemma. Jemma was special. And gone. Another drink.

Mack was doing the engineering work again, just like he had after the brain thing. And in that situation, who could blame Leo for searching after Jemma? Maybe it was a waste of time, but he had nothing else to do. They obviously didn't need him for anything.

In their eyes, he was still damaged, still useless to them, that's how they felt, Leo knew. He had seen the look in Bobbi's eyes. She thought he had lost it. Again. He had lost it again. No wonder Jemma was gone again. And, of course, that was his fault too. Loosening the latch, blowing up the pod, every time he got close enough to her to say something, to dare to talk to her, he screwed it up.

He had begun to notice the tremor again. Staring down at his hand in the dimly lit bar, he watched it until he could see the shake. Fitz squeezed his fingers into a fist, ending the involuntary action, and ordered another drink. The bartender gave him a look.

"You okay, dude? Are you sure you can handle another of these?"

"I'm Scottish." Fitz said, "Just give me the damn drink." Who was he, the pasty, spiky haired hoodlum to question his ability to drink. Like father, like son.

After that encounter and drink, it felt like time to go home. The bartender asked if he wanted a cab, but that would have exposed the base. He walked. Fitz began walking back to his access point for the base. He was a Scot. He could hold his drink. He was paying perfect attention to everything around him. Nobody would sneak up on him.

Kidnapping him couldn't have been easier. After all, a person is weakest when they are all alone.


	2. Yusef

He didn't know how long it had been when his captors ripped the bag off of his head. He blinked, adjusting to the light and the pain in his head. They must have drugged him. Jemma would have been able to tell him right away, told him to describe the symptoms. He had a headache. That was a useful symptom. He always had a headache. Without warning, he felt sick and then there was puke all over his shirt. He could recognize that smell. It transported him back to being a kid again, watching wide-eyed as his mother cleaned his father’s vomit off the floor. He remembered gagging at the smell of liquor and vomit and promising never to fall that far. And yet here he was. Where was he? His hands were ziptied behind him. To a chair? He couldn’t move his legs either. 

“That’s disgusting.” His captor gave him a dirty look. “Don’t bother cleaning him up right now. Let him sit in his waste. It’s no more than he deserves.”

Well that was an angry man. Why would he be angry at Fitz? Leopold racked his brain to recall a memory of this man. Why was he familiar? Morocco. Splinter bombs. Jemma. It all returned with a rush. He had double-crossed Yusef Hadad trying to find Jemma. Jemma. The monolith. The damn monolith.   
"You got away from us once, but it won't be happening again." Had he missed Yusef’s evil monologue? It didn’t matter. More time for SHIELD to find him. It would only be a matter of minutes. They’d know once he didn’t return to the base that something was wrong. He could almost hear them arriving now. “And now you’re going to fulfill your end of the deal. These ‘splinter bombs’ are a failure. Fix them.”  
“Never.” Even in his hungover, headachey state, he knew that bombs and Yusef were a bad idea. “I’m not giving you that kind of weapon.”  
“I don’t remember asking you a question.” Yusef gave him a terrifying grin. “Eventually you will fix these splinter bombs.”  
Fitz spat the acid remaining in his mouth on the floor. His shirt was sticking to him and the smell was almost choking. "I told you, I don't care if you kill me."  
“In that case, perhaps SHIELD will give us the splinter bombs in ransom for your body. Either way, we get what we want.”  
“SHIELD doesn’t negotiate, so you’ll have to come up with a new plan. Not that it matters. You’ll be dead anyway.” Fitz spat again, trying to rid his mouth of the bile.   
“Do you think negotiation will matter when we’re haggling over your corpse? You will build me the splinter bombs. That’s the only way you make it out of here alive.” Yusef let his hand stray to his knife.   
“I’ll take my chances.” Jemma was gone. This was all he had left anyway. If he gave in, he wouldn’t even have his conscience. And besides, SHIELD would come before it was too late.

Except they didn’t. He had no idea how much time had passed in the cinderblock room. The bare lightbulb kept the place constantly illuminated. They moved him from wherever he had been at first to a different room. This one was smaller, and colder, but at least he wasn’t tied to a chair. Where was SHIELD? Yusef couldn’t have spirited him that far away. SHIELD was supposed to be good about things like that. They should have figured out his location within hours. So why weren’t they here? He guessed that it had been two days, but that could have been wrong. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious after the bar. Why the hell had he gone to the bloody bar? He could have avoided this whole mess if he’d just kept himself together and stayed away from the bar. He had been just like his father. That idea hurt more than the beatings that Yusef Hadad’s thugs gave him. At least that pain didn’t last forever. It was almost a relief. It distracted him from the guilt.  
The door would open. Yusef would appear, with two or three of his goons. Yusef would order him to fix the splinter bombs. Stupid oaf. Why would that work? What did he expect Fitz to do? 

And then his men would lay into Fitz. He could barely breathe now without his chest hurting. Who knew his nose had so much blood? His head hurt all the time. He needed water, or he was going to die. Would that be better? No. SHIELD was on its way, and they were going to find Jemma, and so he needed to stay alive if he could. So he asked for water.

Did Yusef know about the pod? Did he know that water was Fitz’s second greatest fear? He must have known. Somebody must have told him.  
Fitz lay on the floor of the room after Yusef had gone, gasping for breath. The bucket of water that he needed stood forgotten. He couldn’t bring himself to get near it, not right now. They had tried to drown him. They had forced his head under and held it there, and he couldn’t breathe. He still couldn’t breathe. 

Where was Coulson? Didn’t he care anymore? Hadn’t anybody noticed that he was gone? Or were they all so absorbed in the new inhumans that his disappearance had gone unnoticed?   
As he lay on the floor, gasping for breath with burning lungs and aching chest, Fitz began to wonder if SHIELD would come at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy so finally an update. Apologies for the long wait. Comments are greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

“And finally, has anyone seen Fitz?” The team briefing had been mostly absorbed with Inhuman talk and dealing with the ATCU until Coulson remembered Fitz’s absence.

“Not since Tuesday night.” Bobbi looked up from her iPad. “I think he went out for a drink after we pulled him off the monolith. He looked pretty shaken up.”

“I know. I told him that it was time to stop looking for Jemma, and to visit her family and tell them what has happened. He attacked the monolith after that conversation.” Coulson rubbed his neck. “Maybe telling him that was a mistake. It wasn’t something I said lightly. But he needs help. He’s been deteriorating without Jemma, and I need his help.”

“I don’t need your justification, sir.” Bobbi’s voice carried an undertone of anger. “You did what you need to do for SHIELD.”

Daisy chimed in. “It’s a tough call and I know you didn’t make it lightly. I’ll talk to Fitz when he gets back. Maybe I can help him sort this out.”

“You can’t just sort this kind of thing out. He just lost his best friend, it’s going to take time.” Hunter didn’t bother with Bobbi’s diplomacy and let his annoyance show on his face. “Stop pressuring him.”

“I’ll call Doctor Garner when Fitz gets back, and maybe he can help him. He’s probably just taking some time, or maybe visiting Simmons’s family. If we just give him some space he’ll be all right.” Coulson sounded unconvinced. “Bobbi, you’ve been closer to him than the rest of us. Any ideas where he went?”

“No sir. I usually just call him when he needs to get back and cover for him until he does. It’s possible he’s following another lead.”

“I really should keep a closer eye on him.” Coulson sighed in frustration. “Bobbi, if you hear from him, let me know. You’re dismissed.”

Hunter pulled Bobbi aside as they left Coulson’s office. “Bob, be honest with me. How bad has Fitz been the past few weeks? You’ve been with him in the lab and I’ve been so preoccupied with you that I haven’t been paying attention. Do you think he’s okay?”

“Well, I’m just imagining how upset you were when I was hurt. And he doesn’t even know if she’s alive. What do you think?” 

“Dammit. I need to apologize to him. I shouldn’t have just left him to deal with this. We’re supposed to be a team.” Hunter pulled out his phone. “I’ll call him, say I’m sorry and figure out where he is.”

“Don’t apologize, Hunter. Just do better.” Bobbi paused at the door of the lab. “We’ll figure this out. He just needs some time.”

* * *

 

Fitz dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. Water dripped into his eyes from his hair as his lungs closed, suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. His whole throat was closed off. Every breath was shallow and not enough to keep him standing. He hadn’t had an attack this bad since the first few months after the pod. He knew what he needed to do. May had coached him through this dozens of times during physical therapy and rehab. Hands above his head. Stand up. He tried standing, and staggered and hit the wall. Yusef’s laugh reminded him of where he was. 

“Perhaps, Agent Fitz, delivering those splinter bombs isn’t so bad an option anymore?” Yusef laughed again. “You see, we can keep doing this all day. But how long will you last, that is a more interesting question.”

“My team is on their way.” Fitz forced the words out between gasps for air. “I can’t give you what you want.” 

Yusef nodded to the guards and then they were on him again, forcing his head back underwater. When they allowed him to lift his head again, Yusef was talking to one of the other terrorists. “I’m getting tired of this. And we won’t be able to avoid SHIELD forever. I’ve got a contact who will give us what we want-” He left the room, out of Fitz’s hearing range. 

Alone again, Fitz struggled to regain composure. He just had to breathe. Having a breathing problem didn’t mean he was relapsing. He just needed to breathe. That’s what Simmons would have told him. He could almost imagine her sitting next to him now, like she had when he had just woken up. She would put her hand on his shoulder, and he would have to put his hand on top of hers. It had helped him with coordination and it was comforting too. He put his hand there now. It helped. He could get it there on the first try. He wasn’t getting worse. And then she would have told him to breathe in with her. One deep breath in. One deep breath out. Another in, another out. “Thank you, Simmons.” He murmured under his breath. “It helps, you know. Having you here." If he closed his eyes, he really could imagine that she was right there next to him. He could see her, comforting him. Helping him breathe. 

When his breathing calmed down, he could feel his other pains. The bruising over his face and arms and ribs. The ache in his head that just wouldn’t go away. The hole in his heart because Simmons wasn’t here. She was who knows where, swept away from him by the monolith and it was his fault. He had watched the security footage a thousand times.  _ What idiot- _ This idiot. He was the idiot who opened the box and let the monolith out and took her away. SHIELD was on their way. He knew it. For now, maybe he deserved this. After all, it was his fault. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hunter barged into Coulson’s office, barely acknowledging Daisy’s presence. “Sir? Something’s wrong with Fitz.”   
“What do you mean, wrong? Have you heard from him?” Coulson’s fingers tapped on his desk. 

“Wrong? Obviously something’s wrong. His mum just called me.”    
“Oh, so he did go to her. That’s a relief.” Daisy cut Hunter off. “I knew he was safe.”

“Would you let me finish my sentence?” Hunter spun and gave her a glare. “Moroccan authorities busted a gang lord’s hideout last night, and they found Fitz’s wallet and phone. His ID was still there, and they got her number through that. So no, Daisy, he is not with his mum. Until recently, he was the prisoner of Moroccan extremists.”

“Do they know where he is now?” Coulson asked, reaching for the phone and dialing into the intercom to call the rest of the team into his office. “I take it they didn’t find a body?”

“No. Permission to use the screen?” Hunter paused for approval before projecting the contents of his tablet onto the wall. “The gang lord, Yusef Hadad, died in the firefight. But he kept records of what went on his compound. There was a basement room where they found recent bloodstains.” Hunter flicked to a few photos of the cinder block cell, dark blotches featuring prominently on the walls and floor. “So far, they haven’t found a record of Fitz’s death, so it’s not unreasonable to hope that he’s still alive.” 

“And I told you that he was just moody.” Daisy stepped closer to the wall, staring at the tiny room on the screen. “This is my fault.”

“This isn’t a time for fault and blame. We can work that out later.” Coulson stood up as Mack and Bobbi entered the room. “Right now, we have to focus on action. Daisy, find out where Fitz is now. Bobbi, I know you’re not up for the field, but I need you on the Zephyr. We don’t know what condition Fitz will be in when we find him. Hunter, get in touch with the Moroccan authorities and get access to whatever they’ll give you. We’ll get the rest when we touch down. I’m going to find out what pilots are available for the Zephyr.”

“You have a pilot.” Coulson turned towards the doorway in shock at May’s voice. “Wheels up in twenty minutes.”

* * *

 

“Yusef Hadad is dead. He was killed in a firefight with the police after I tipped them off.” Fitz’s eyes snapped open. He knew that voice. The room had changed. This looked like a SHIELD facility. The honeycombed walls told him that it was probably soundproof. This couldn’t be SHIELD because he was handcuffed to a table. “SHIELD found your ID, and now they’re investigating. But they aren’t going to find you.” Ward appeared behind him, and it felt like every last bit of air had been forced out of Fitz's lungs. “At least not until I’m ready.” Fitz gagged, throwing up across the metal table, coughing on the bile left in his stomach, fighting to clear his mouth and catch his breath. “It looks like you’re still scared of me, Fitz.” Ward moved closer to him. “That’s disgusting.” Fitz assumed he was talking about the vomit until Ward reached for his right hand, grabbing it despite Fitz trying to pull it away with a grimace. “Did Yusef do that?” Fitz refused to answer, looking away as Ward examined the bruises and swelling. “Must hurt like hell. Quite a few broken bones there, Fitz.” Ward let it fall onto the now-slimy surface of the table. “Maybe pissing Yusef off wasn’t the best idea. Tell me, was your show of strength worth it? You refused to work for it and you got what? You moved from a incompetent crime lord to Hydra, Yusef still got his weapons, at least for a little while, and he shattered your hand on top of it all. Does the moral victory somehow cancel it all out?”

Fitz kept his face turned away from Ward, fighting against the urge to throw up again. There was nothing left in his stomach anyway. 

“Look at me.” Ward grabbed his chin. “Because it gets better. Now you’re going to tell us everything you know about the monolith, and then you’ll help me kill Coulson and May.”

“Go to hell.” Fitz spat, jerking his head away from Ward’s hand. “You can tell Garrett that I said hi.” 

Ward shrugged. “Don’t waste your breath. You of all people should know how valuable it is.” He left the room from the door behind Fitz, giving a mumbled instruction at the door. 

Fitz could feel his heart pounding, shaking every organ in his body. He needed to breath. He needed to live. Ward could threaten all he wanted, mock his brain injury, bluster about killing Coulson. But Ward was evil, and he was everything Fitz fought against. SHIELD was doing good, and Ward was evil, and that had to count for something. Yusef had begun to splinter his resolve, but Ward renewed it. Ward was not going to beat him again. They were going to beat him this time, weren’t they, Simmons?

“Of course, Fitz.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and even though he couldn’t get his hand that high with the handcuffs, he could lean his head towards her. “Ward doesn’t stand a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a little shorter than usual. And just to clarify-yes, Fitz is talking to an imaginary Simmons. If you remember, May hadn't come back to SHIELD yet in 3x01. Thank you all for your lovely comments.


	5. Invictus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo so this chapter has a bit more violence than previous chapters, and it also references Alistair Fitz and his abuse of Fitz as a child. Ye be warned.

“When I ask a question, I expect you to answer.” Ward spun around, slamming the metal rod into Fitz’s gut and forcing a scream from his cracked lips. He writhed, gasping for a breath through the pain exploding in his abdomen. If he could just get some support from the ground, and ease the weight on his wrists, he would be able to get it back. But the straps around his wrists kept him suspended just out of range of the floor. He spat blood onto the ground. “I’ll ask again. Where is Jemma Simmons?”

He had to focus on something other than the broken bones in his wrist and hand. He imagined a bowl of his mother’s soup. She had made it for him the day he broke his arm in second grade. He had cried, and his father had yelled at him for that, but once Alistair had left for the bar his mother comforted him with soup and cookies. He tried to imagine the taste of the hot soup and melted chocolate, but he couldn’t mask the taste of blood in his mouth, or even imagine what it would taste like to eat. 

Ward’s baton smashed into his kneecap. “Jemma Simmons hasn’t been heard of in months. Where is she? She didn’t leave you again? Did she finally get tired of dealing with you?”

He couldn’t take another hit. What could he say that would satisfy Ward? Coulson would understand that he couldn’t stand up to the torture. It was only one answer. 

“I don’t know.” That was the truth. He knew how she had gone, but he didn’t know where. 

Ward took a step closer to him and he braced for another blow. Instead he reached up and released him, letting him fall to the floor.

“I knew you couldn’t take it, Fitz. Remember, compliance is rewarded at Hydra.” Ward tossed something onto the floor and left the room. 

Fitz lay on the floor, trying to regain control of his breathing again. Whatever was lying on the floor was too far away. He couldn’t reach it, couldn’t even tell what it was.

“It’s a protein bar, Fitz.” Jemma leaned over and examined the wrapped package. “You haven’t eaten anything solid since Yusef kidnapped you, you know, and you weren’t exactly eating well before that. You need to eat this.”

“I can’t reach it, Jemma. Can you give it to me?” He was exhausted. He could not move another inch.

“You know I can’t do that, Leo.” Jemma sat uselessly next to the protein bar, watching him. “You have to come get it yourself.”

“I can’t, Jemma.” He was screaming in his head. Why didn’t she help him? She knew he couldn’t get over there. His shoulders burned, and his arm was numb with pain, and he wondered if he would be able to stand on his bruising knee. “I can’t reach it, Jemma. It’s too far away.”

“You have to come over here, Fitz. I can’t give it to you, but if you don’t eat it, you’ll die. I don’t need to tell you that you’re starving.” Suddenly she was beside him, her fingers running gently over the patchy places where his hair had begun to fall out. “You need to get that protein bar.”

“Jemma, please. Help me.” He clutched for her wrist, but she had moved again.

“Do you remember that night after the Boiler Room Incident?” Jemma asked. She was sitting cross legged on the floor, the silver wrapping of the protein bar shining at her feet. “When the older cadets threw beer on you and imitated you?”

“I don’t need to think about any more humiliation, thank you Jemma.” 

“That’s the beginning, Fitz. I went up to your room with you, remember? And you were upset but you told me about that poem.” 

“Invictus.” He couldn’t make his voice go over a whisper anymore. “William Ernest Henley.”

“You told me all about how the boys at school would bully you, and about your father, and how this poem helped you stay strong. No matter the circumstance, you made your own choices.” Jemma was beside him again. “And then after your accident, you had Skye paste it up in your room. You have to be strong now, Fitz. Can you remember the words?” When Fitz shook his head, she continued. “Never mind. I’ll just say the words, and you try to come over to me.”

 

_ Out of the night that covers me _

_ Black as the pit from pole to pole _

_ I thank whatever gods may be _

_ For my unconquerable soul _

 

Jemma’s voice changed to his mothers. They were in the emergency room, and his arm looked funny and there was a bruise over his eye. Daddy hadn’t meant to knock him down the stairs, only sometimes Daddy got angry when Leopold was so dumb. That’s what Daddy had said when Leo cried and Mummy yelled, and said she would take him to the hospital. Now he was sitting on her lap, and she was whispering the words under her breath. Maybe she was talking to him, maybe she was thinking about Daddy. 

 

_ In the fell clutch of circumstance _

_ I have not winced nor cried aloud _

_ Under the bludgeonings of chance _

_ My head is bloody but unbowed. _

 

He was a few years older, now, but he was in the emergency room again. He wasn’t sitting on her lap anymore. This time he was by himself, except for Miss Piper, who was talking to the nurse. He sat quietly and held the rag to the cut on his head, and hoped that the stain would come out of his shirt. Dad would call it a waste of money if it had. School uniforms were expensive, Dad said. He would be angry with Leo anyway for letting the bullies hurt him. Leo should be strong enough to scare them away. He didn’t cry anymore, not even when the doctor stapled up his head. Dad thought it was because of his influence. Leo thought about Mummy’s poem. 

 

_ Beyond this place of wrath and tears  _

_ Looms but the Horror of the shade,  _ _   
_ _ And yet the menace of the years _

_ Finds and shall find me unafraid. _

 

Now he was sitting again, waiting for another doctor. This time he was completely alone, with only the sound of his own loud breathing breaking the silence. In front of him stretched the parallel bars that were going to teach him how to walk again. The door behind him creaked open, and the physical therapist entered the room. “All right, Agent Fitz. Let’s just start by getting you standing.” He didn’t want to fall again. He probed the bruise on his elbow from last time and it still hurt. Unafraid, he could hear his mother whispering. 

 

_ It matters not how strait the gate, _

_ How charged with punishment the scroll, _

_ I am the master of my fate, _

_ I am the captain of my soul. _

 

Jemma gestured for him to go to the protein bar again, and he rotated to his back, forcing himself to sit up through the dizziness assaulting him. Using his one good arm and his legs, he half scooted, half pulled himself across the floor, his body screaming with every inch. Now he could reach it without moving any further. He fumbled with the wrapping, his hand shaking until Jemma steadied it with hers. 

“I told you that you could do it, Fitz.” Jemma crowed happily, gently rubbing his tired shoulders.

“Well you don’t have to rub it in my face.” Fitz grumbled, cramming the too-small bar into his mouth. He was too focused on the calories to worry about her mockery. She could say whatever she wanted, as long as she helped him survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Invictus is a poem by William Ernest Henley. I've always associated it with Fitz, and it just fit in while I was writing this chapter.


	6. Death

He thought that maybe he would just die peacefully. Ward would hit him hard enough, and he’d drift into unconsciousness and from there he’d never wake up. Dying wasn’t so bad, when he thought of it that way. He could just fade into oblivion, and nobody would be the wiser. SHIELD would not come. He had made a choice to walk away, and they were not going to follow him. He had betrayed them now, and he did not deserve their rescuing. He would die here, in Ward’s bunker, alone. Even the shade of Simmons had disappeared. He had not seen Ward recently, not since he had told him everything. 

Ward lied. He had promised that compliance would be rewarded, but even after Fitz had given him everything about the monolith, choking out the words through the bile and the fuzz in his head, the pain had not stopped. Now Fitz was alone with the splintering pain in his hand and the confusion in his head that wouldn’t go away. He had stopped being hungry days ago. When he touched his head, he felt crusted blood and then pieces of his hair would end up in his shaking fingers. Kebo, that was the name of the new torturer, Kebo had thrown him on the floor after he had betrayed the team and he hadn’t been able to move. Everything hurt. He thought maybe his leg was broken, because he could barely move it. Or his knee. Could he have broken his knee? Did knees break? 

It didn’t matter. He knew he was dying. It was only a question of time. If he could just close his eyes, it would be over. The light above him was too bright. If he could roll over, get off his back, his eyes could look at the floor and it would be dark and he could close his eyes and die while he dreamed. 

The door shook. Fitz ignored it. He had seen more vivid hallucinations. This one would not make him hope again. 

It rattled again. Why couldn’t they just let him sleep and die? 

Now it wasn’t just the door. The whole room shook. Did death feel like this? Maybe he had already closed his eyes, and this was how he died. Just more and more vivid hallucinations until the pain slipped past him. 

It didn’t surprise him when he saw Daisy leaning over him, but he did wonder what it meant. Maybe what he had told Ward had killed Daisy too, and that’s why she was here to help him die. Simmons wasn’t there. Good. She wasn’t dead. He knew she wasn’t dead. Daisy was talking, but he couldn’t hear her. How long had it been since he had heard anything? 

Why did Daisy have blood on her face? If she really was an angel, wouldn’t she be perfect? This was a strange way to die.

She had tears in her eyes, and she slipped her arm under his neck and raised his head. Now she had blood on her hands too. 

Mack was the next angel to appear. Mack and Hunter. Who picked them to be angels? 

Oh, god, he had killed the whole team with his stupid mouth. Why couldn’t he have just stayed silent, and let Ward kill him? Now the whole team was dead and it was his fault. 

Mack and Hunter were pulling him off the ground, and everything hurt. They were carrying him out of the room, and Daisy was behind them. His ears buzzed, and he wished he could understand what they said. Where did angels take traitors? He should have listened when his mother talked about God and heaven. Maybe that would have helped him understand death now. 

Even with Mack and Hunter supporting him, every motion shot pain through his hand and his knee and he gagged. This had to be it. This had to be when he died. Why did this dream hurt so much? 

Pain overwhelmed him, and he let his eyes close. People always talked about the light people saw as they died, but darkness was better. Darkness was more peaceful. 

* * *

 

“Start compressions. Give me a bag.” Bobbi knelt on the floor of the Zephyr beside Fitz’s body. “Defibrillator.” She pulled at his shirt, and froze. The mass of bruises and welts across his chest stopped all of them for a moment. “Why did we wait?” Bobbi whispered, before springing back into action. “Clear.”

* * *

Not dead after all. Why did God keep bringing him back? “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. Please, just let me die now. My mother believes. Let me die now. If you don’t listen to me, listen to me because of her. Let me die. Please, let me die.”

* * *

“He’s still unresponsive. Charge again. Clear.”

* * *

God picked Bobbi to be his next angel. Why couldn’t she just take him to death and let it be the end?

* * *

“I have a pulse. Somebody get me a gurney.” Bobbi moved ahead of Mack and Hunter to the medical pod, searching frantically for an ET tube. “His breathing is weak. We’ll lose him again if he doesn’t get oxygen.”

* * *

Why couldn’t he just die like he had died the first time? Drowning, in comparison, wasn’t so bad. He had just suddenly blacked out. Afterwards, afterwards was when it got worse, but dying wasn’t so bad.

* * *

The constant beep of heart monitor shook him away from death. Or was this all the same as before?

He could hear again. Did that mean he hadn’t died after all?

A wave of pain rushed over him. 

Bobbi’s face appeared. “Welcome back, Fitz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I'm publishing here as I re-write this story from fanfiction.net, so you might have read a much shorter and less detailed version over there (same username). I'm updating it over there as well.


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